


The Interrogation

by ohofcourse



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Study, Hisoka is a lawyer, Illumi is sixteen and murdered his parents, Lawyers, Minor Character Death, Murder, No romantic relationship, none at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26978914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohofcourse/pseuds/ohofcourse
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Illumi Zoldyck is brought in to the police after murdering his parents. Hisoka Morrow is called in as his defense attorney.
Relationships: Hisoka & Illumi Zoldyck
Comments: 9
Kudos: 139





	The Interrogation

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned this in the tags, but this is NOT a romantic fic. Also, I changed the age gap between Illumi and the other Zoldyck children, so he's sixteen and Milluki is fifteen and then Killua, Alluka, and Kalluto are the same age. Not a big deal, but thought I'd explain if you are confused. 
> 
> This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. Additionally, I made up my own legal system because I didn't want to do copious amounts of research. If a lawyer is reading this, I'm really sorry. It's super unrealistic, I know. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!!!

“Shouldn’t you give him a baby wipe or something?” Hisoka asked. 

The kid was slumped back in the uncomfortable metal chairs they kept in the interrogation room, eyes fixed decidedly on the opposite wall. Splatters of blood stained one side of his face, flecking over his eyelid and matting his lashes together. 

His hands, which were cuffed to the center of the table in front of him, flexed absently, crescents of dark brown--dried blood--under his fingernails. 

“We offered,” an officer said, shrugging her shoulders. “He said he would just shower when this was over.” 

“He thinks he’ll be taken home after this?” Hisoka was trying to keep the amusement out of his voice, but it was sort of laughable. This child had sliced through his father’s Achilles’ and then gutted him from belly to throat. As if he were a deer carcass. 

He had shown more restraint with his mother--just a simple bash to the head with a pewter paperweight. 

And then, he called the police on himself. 

Hisoka didn’t really like children, had never represented one before, but this case had stuck out to him, or at least, the gruesomeness had. When a detective had called him earlier that evening, saying a child was asking him to be his lawyer, he had wanted to say no, and then he had heard what had happened. 

The kid wasn’t going to be waltzing out of the station anytime soon.

“Mr. Morrow, if you couldn’t tell by now, he isn’t exactly right in the head,” the officer replied. 

“What’s his name?” 

“Illumi Zoldyck.”

“ _ Oh, _ ” Hisoka said, delighted now, properly delighted. “So, he’s rich!” 

“Why are you so surprised? He hired you, didn’t he?” 

“Can I speak to him before we start?” 

“Sure, we’ll have an officer standing by.” 

Hisoka pressed his glasses up with an index finger, smiling in a giddy way. 

“We’ll be fine. I’m on his side, after all.” And with that, the automatic door buzzed and Hisoka shouldered his way inside. 

* * *

“Hello!” He set his briefcase down. 

Part of the reason why Hisoka had decided to become a defense attorney was that he liked being around terrible people. It was interesting. And sometimes funny. And there was something satisfying about holding the life of a murderer or rapist or someone equally vile in your hands. 

This Illumi Zoldyck wasn’t like that. 

For one, he looked exhausted. His eyes were big and dull and so dark they could have been black; his skin was sallow and his lips were cracked and dry. He followed Hisoka’s movement but it was half-hearted, like he didn’t care all that much about what happened to him next. 

Even so, there was a calculated tilt to his head, and a grim set to his mouth that told Hisoka his quietness wasn’t from shock or trauma. 

It was the same peace that came to a German Pointer after a long day of hunting pheasants. 

A feathers-in-your-teeth type of calm. 

“You hired me to defend you,” Hisoka said, settling onto an uncomfortable chair with a sigh. 

Lifeless black eyes slid to look at him. 

“The mics are off,” Hisoka added, pointing to the recording device built into the table, and to the two cameras in opposing corners of the room. 

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” 

“I killed my parents.” Illumi had a very flat voice, very soft, almost poetic in its lilt. 

“...Okay, could you elaborate on that?” 

“Where’s my brother, Killua?” Illumi actually took the effort to turn his head all the way, so he could look at Hisoka head-on. 

“He’s…” Hisoka peered at the file in his lap. “He’s at St. George’s hospital right now. He’ll be staying with his friend as soon as he’s well enough to be discharged. Your other siblings are staying with your grandfather. Did you want the address?” 

“Spring Road, Maritime, or Greencastle way?” 

“Hm?” 

Illumi closed his eyes, head tilting back in exasperation. Hisoka watched, amusedly, as his hands clenched and then unclenched, wrists pulling at the handcuffs, which had already left red rings in his skin. 

“Which house are they at? Spring Road, Maritime, or Greencastle way?” 

“Maritime.” 

“Hm.” Illumi drummed his fingers on the table. 

“It’s late. I’m sure you’re tired, committing parricide takes a lot out of you, I’m guessing. Let’s get started.” Illumi stiffened. 

“You can’t say that. You’re my lawyer.” 

“The mics are off. It’s just us. Please tell me what happened, Illumi.” Hisoka’s smile had fallen off. He clicked the pen in his hand three times. 

“Where should I start?” Illumi asked. He wasn’t looking at Hisoka anymore, lips pressed together in discomfort. He scratched at some dried blood on his knuckle until the skin below was red and raw. 

“Why don’t we start with your brother. Killua, was it?” 

“Yeah,” Illumi rasped, “Killua.” 

* * *

As soon as Illumi was done speaking with Hisoka, the interrogation began. 

For the sake of optics, Hisoka had advised Illumi to clean the blood off his face. Illumi agreed, but that meant Hisoka had to scrub at his face himself, on account of his cuffed hands. Hisoka felt a little ridiculous, but if he felt it, Illumi looked it, face scrunched with discomfort as his cheek was rubbed with a wet paper towel.

“Let’s get started.” There were two detectives, a man and a woman. The woman was a little older and her cheeks were preemptively round with a smile. The man was stern-looking and he kept re-arranging a large stack of papers in his hands. 

“Do you know what this is, Mr. Zoldyck?” The man asked. 

“Papers.” And Hisoka’s smile widened. 

“It’s your file. One of the fuller files I’ve seen in a while, actually.” 

“That file doesn’t mean shit,” Hisoka interrupted cheerily. Illumi’s head whipped over to look at him. With the detectives at the table, Hisoka had been relegated to a spot next to Illumi. They were a good foot apart, but the closeness seemed to have put Illumi on edge. 

“Mr. Morrow--” The man began hotly. 

“They threw in a bunch of random papers to scare you, Illumi. Just focus on answering their questions. Ignore the file.”

“Please don't interrupt me,” the detective said, glaring sideways at Hisoka, who merely shrugged and then jerked his chin at Illumi. 

“Off we go, then.” 

“Let’s start by introducing ourselves, actually,” the woman said quickly. 

Hisoka could tell bringing her in had been a calculated move. Illumi was sixteen and clearly had issues with parents, or at least he did. An older, maternal woman would maybe make him more comfortable, maybe. 

Going by the way he sized her up, nostrils flaring like a spooked horse, it wasn’t working. 

“My name is Rachel, and this is Anthony. Feel free to refer to us that way. Is it okay if we call you Illumi?” She sounded very gentle, and Hisoka had to admit, she was good at her job. Her crows’ feet deepened as she gave Illumi a quick, endearing smile. 

“Yes,” he said flatly. 

“Great. Well, Illumi, let’s go over what happened this evening. Anthony is going to ask you some guiding questions, but mostly, we just want you to talk to us. Tell us a story. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“And Mr. Morrow will help you out if you’re unsure about something.” Three pairs of eyes turned to Hisoka, who was leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach. 

“‘Course,” he said with a smile. Anthony made a face. 

“Alright, Illumi, go right on ahead.” 

Illumi sighed and clasped his hands together, fingernails digging into his knuckles until his fingers were white. 

“I don’t usually live at home. I go to a boarding school, out-of-state. I came home for Christmas.” Rachel smiled encouragingly. 

“I hadn’t been home in three months, give or take. When I got home, I saw that Killua looked…” Illumi’s lip lifted into the beginnings of a snarl, nose wrinkling, brows lowering. It was the most expression Hisoka had ever seen from him. “He looked unwell.” 

“Could you elaborate?” Rachel prodded gently. Hisoka had told Illumi during their conversation that they were going to go for self-defense and the defense of another person. Illumi technically, based on his account of the story, had been in imminent danger, and so had his brother. Homicide wasn’t really an overreaction. 

“Don’t you have his medical file from the hospital in that stack of papers?” Illumi asked. Hisoka breathed out through his nose. 

_ Please _ , he wanted to say,  _ behave _ . 

“We do, but we would like to know what exactly you saw.” 

“I think he was having a seizure,” Illumi said coldly. 

“A seizure, how--” 

“His ribs were broken and his face and shoulders were scratched up. My father has electrocuted me before. I think they had done the same to Killua when I was gone.” Rachel and Anthony looked at each other. Going off what Illumi had told Hisoka before this, they would be doing that a lot this evening. A lot. 

“And so you killed them?” 

“I got in an argument with my mother,” Illumi corrected. His left hand jerked against the cuffs. He looked like he was trying to rub his brow. When it became clear he wouldn’t be able to, he just rubbed his forehead against his shoulder. 

“About Killua?” 

“Yes.” 

“What happened after that?” Anthony’s sourness had gone away. He was leaning forward, eyes narrowed in interest. Illumi’s mouth puckered. 

“My dad got involved. We fought.” 

“Physically?” 

“Yes.” 

“Has that happened before?” 

“Physical fights? I mean,” and Illumi sighed, like he had just been asked to recite something tedious. “He hits us, but we don’t really fight back. I have a few times, but it’s not worth it.” 

“Are you and your brother, Killua, close?” 

“No.” 

“I’m sorry?” Rachel asked, blinking. Hisoka frowned and glanced over at Illumi. He had his head lowered, glaring daggers at a spot on the table. 

“We don’t get along, no.” 

“You fight a lot?” 

“Killua is skittish,” Illumi said evasively. Hisoka’s eyes narrowed. Illumi hadn’t mentioned that at all during their conversation. They had spoken about lots of things, private things that Hisoka doubted Illumi would be willing to tell Susan and Anthony. He felt himself pout without meaning to. His angle for defense had been pushing for the brotherly love component, an understandable desire to protect someone younger than you, connected by blood. 

“Skittish?” Rachel asked. 

“You said he had broken ribs, scratches, and he was seizing?” Hisoka said quickly, before Rachel could properly follow up on Illumi’s answer. 

“Let us ask the questions,” Anthony said tersely. 

“He had been electrocuted,” Illumi muttered, irritated he had to explain it. “If you’re electrocuted with too high a voltage, you’ll seize. He kept shaking and staring off into space and he forgot where he was even though we were at home.” 

“Are those symptoms of seizures?” Anthony asked Rachel. 

“Yes,” Illumi snarled. “I just said they were.” 

“Your brother had clearly been abused then,” Rachel said soothingly, turning her attention back to Illumi, “you discovered this, argued with your mother, and then your father involved himself in the argument, and things got physical, yes?” 

“Yes. We were in the formal sitting room.” 

“Ah, I see. What happened after your fight with your dad?” 

“I was sent to my father’s office and told to wait there until they had finished dinner.” 

“Did you?” 

“Yes.” 

“And at that time, did you have the knife you used to kill your father with?” Illumi looked to Hisoka, who raised an eyebrow in challenge. 

“No. The knife was in a display on one of his shelves. It wasn’t very sharp.” Anthony winced at the implied imagery. 

“Okay, darling,” Rachel said gently. “So, you were waiting in his office. Why did he send you there, did you know?” 

“He was going to hit me,” Illumi said slowly, as if Rachel was very stupid. “Probably with--well, actually, yeah, with a belt.” 

“How did you know it was a belt?” 

“He came in carrying a belt.” 

Hisoka snorted, but he had the decency to cover up his mouth when he did. Rachel threw him a look, and then smiled again at Illumi.

“Okay, so he came in with a belt and you decided to kill him?” 

“He stepped on my foot,” Illumi said, a little indignant. Anthony slid over a blown-up photo of Illumi’s foot, taken at the police station. Two toes were visibly broken. One toenail had been ripped clean off. The top of his foot was mottled blue and red. 

“This foot?” 

Illumi looked at Hisoka, eyes wide in disbelief. Then, he looked back at Anthony. 

“What--yes, that foot. Obviously.” 

“Relax, Illumi, we’re just trying to clarify here.” Anthony leaned forward into his chair, elbows propped on the table. Illumi’s mouth twitched at the poor manners. 

“Killing someone--even in self-defense--is not something to be taken lightly. You demonstrated a genuine disregard for human life that could--”

“Let’s move on,” Hisoka interrupted coolly. He reached across the table and slid the photo of Illumi’s foot back into the file. 

“Mr. Morrow, if you’re going to hinder--”

“He’s a kid,” Hisoka said. He didn’t actually care that Illumi was a minor, but it was a very useful thing to wield in situations like these. And Illumi, blessedly, seemed to understand this. He slumped further into his chair, drawing his shoulders into his body. His dark hair fell forward with the tilt of his head, veiling one half of his face. A single black eye watched Anthony warily. 

“Let’s move on,” Rachel said. She took over the file and rifled through the pages. 

“Your mother,” she began, voice quiet, “died from blunt force head trauma.” 

“Paperweight,” Illumi rasped. 

“Sorry?”

“It was a paperweight.” 

“Okay, dear,” Rachel said, hesitant now. Anthony glanced at her. 

“This was after you killed your dad?” 

“Yes. She came in. I used the paperweight on her.” 

“Why not kill her with a knife?” Anthony asked. Illumi shifted in his chair. 

“She was kinder to me.” There was a pause. “And to my siblings.” 

“She didn’t abuse you, then?” Hisoka tensed, looking sharply at Illumi. He knew Illumi could feel his stare, could see it in the way he bit at his lip, eyes trembling in their sockets. 

“She didn’t hit me.” 

“Did she do something else?” Rachel asked. Hisoka’s foot jittered impatiently. Illumi needed to be smart about this, needed to fully explain. This would garner him lots of sympathy when the case goes to trial. And he needed all the sympathy he could get at the moment. 

“I think she sexually abused me.” Illumi picked at his thumbnail. He looked even more tired now than when they had first started, and a part of his bottom lip was so cracked it looked like it was bleeding. He ran his tongue over the spot and winced. 

“You think?” Rachel asked. Anthony shuffled his papers. 

“I never really considered it,” Illumi admitted. 

“What did she do?” 

“They did plenty of bad things to Killua, we could talk about that.” 

“Illumi, this is important.” Rachel’s mouth was twisted. She was, objectively, a pretty woman, blonde wispy hair done up in a bun, eyes kind and sleet-blue. And despite her shrewdness, Hisoka could tell that the kindness in her expressions was relatively genuine. 

To him, this was slightly mind-boggling. 

“Can he leave?” Illumi asked, glaring sharply at Anthony. 

“Call someone from the SA unit,” he muttered to Rachel. She smiled tightly at him in understanding. After, Anthony stood up and shot Hisoka a brisk nod. 

As soon as Anthony was gone, Illumi breathed a sigh of relief, slumping back into his chair fully, chest shuddering. 

Rachel reached across the table and very gingerly took one of Illumi’s hands, pale and slender and veined in a very young way. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. 

Illumi looked quizzically at Rachel, and then at Hisoka, and then down to his and Rachel’s interlocked hands. 

“We’re going to have someone from CPS come and facilitate, okay?” 

“Fine.” 

“Could I speak to my client until they come?” Rachel looked to Illumi, who stared back blankly, and then nodded, blinking herself out of a daze. 

“Yes, ‘course. Call if you need me.” 

“Mics off,” Hisoka added with a cheery smile. Rachel nodded again. 

The door to the interrogation room opened, revealing a brightly-lit hallway with officers milling about, like some portal to another world. And then the door closed, and they were alone, gray walls and a wide panel of one-way glass. 

“Illumi,” Hisoka said with a sigh, rubbing his forehead. “I could get you--no, I  _ want  _ to give you five months of community service and a fine that would be--to you--pocket change. I can’t do that if you keep on being so withholding.”

“I’m not withholding.” 

“Those two feel bad for you, do you understand how valuable that is?”

“I’m not stupid,” Illumi seethed, turning on him rather rapidly. His chair squealed against the linoleum and his wrists, still cuffed, jerked in an aborted motion. 

“I didn’t think so,” Hisoka said, slightly quieter, “but I’m asking you to be reasonable, which, judging by your position right now, is going to be a little difficult. You fucking murdered your parents! Great! You’re paying me a shit ton of money to get you out of that. If you wanted to go to jail you would have hired… I don’t know, you would have hired someone bad at their job. Do as you’re told. Tell them about your bitch of a mother so I can go home and work on getting you out on bail--which, by the way--is something you’re going to want dearly.” 

“Fine,” Illumi said testily. Hisoka leaned forward and then, with telegraphed movements, flicked him right between the eyebrows. 

Illumi gave him a reproachful look. 

“Be smart. I can do all the heavy lifting. Like I said, tell them all about your lovely parents, with detail.” 

“Detail,” Illumi echoed. 

“Detail,” Hisoka agreed, smiling wickedly. 

* * *

Illumi was very good at doing as he was told, evidently, because in the following hour and a half, he unfurled a childhood that was so horrific, and in his late parents’ cases, so incriminating, that even Hisoka found himself getting uncomfortable during certain parts. 

“Can we be done?” Illumi asked. He was flopped forward now, chin resting on the table surface, eyes boredly tracking the frantic scribble of the CPS worker’s pen. She was younger, and kept looking at Illumi with big misty eyes, hair tucked neatly behind her ears. 

She was, Hisoka thought absently, kind of hot. 

“Are we done here? My client has been very forthcoming.” He folded his arms over his chest a little smugly. 

“Yes, it’s late,” Rachel said, folding Illumi’s file closed. 

“Can I go home now?” Illumi asked. Hisoka watched as the CPS worker and Rachel exchanged regretful looks. 

“Not yet,” Hisoka said, interrupting the silence. “I’m going to get you out on bail, though.” 

“You think--” 

“Oh, yeah,” Hisoka said with a grin, staring Rachel down, “I think I can.” 

* * *

Illumi wasn’t sent immediately to a temporary holding cell to await his bail hearing; he was sent to the hospital. 

The CPS worker had insisted on it. 

And turns out, she had been very right in doing so. Illumi had a concussion, three broken toes, and a host of other minor abrasions--belt-like--that combined together to be just bad enough that he would need the attention of a doctor. 

_ Maybe a psych exam while they’re at it,  _ Hisoka had thought to himself. 

He didn’t sleep that night. He hadn’t had a case like this--an interesting case--in a long time. Mostly, he was getting old, rich men out of questionable situations, making sure they didn’t even  _ need  _ to go to trial. Illumi, on the other hand, was a challenge, a welcome one. 

The bail hearing went rather quickly. 

Hisoka was inexplicably able to convince the judge that not only was Illumi not a flight risk, he was also not a danger to the community, because of the extreme scenario of the crime. He wouldn’t be killing just anybody on the street. Hopefully.

“Do you happen to have $10 million lying around?” Hisoka asked, peering down at Illumi’s ashen face. 

He was handcuffed to his hospital bed and a pair of officers were stationed outside, but going by the stack of empty jello cups by his bedside, he was being treated very well. 

“Hello,” Illumi said blearily. 

“I got you your bail, kiddo,” Hisoka said, bowing at the waist. He was waiting for a whoop of delight, except it was Illumi, so he would have settled for a particularly grateful blink, or an audible exhale through the nose. 

“Did you say $10 million?” Illumi asked quietly. 

“You’ll get most of it back if you show up to the trial. Also, you’ll be staying with a foster parent who deals with troubled children until then.” 

“No.” 

“Nuh-uh, Illumi. I killed myself getting this for you. I can promise you, prison would not be a good place for you, absolutely not.” 

“I want to live with my siblings.” 

“Tough luck,” Hisoka said with a shrug. 

“I want another lawyer.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“I want another lawyer!” Illumi spat. A nurse poked her head into the room. 

“Loomi, dear, is everything alright?” She looked Hisoka up and down with narrowed eyes. 

“Are you bothering him?” 

“No.” 

“Get out,” Illumi hissed, wet-eyed now. “I want you out.” The nurse lowered her brows and looked between the two of them again. 

“Please give us a moment,” Hisoka said through a smile. “Now, please. I’m his lawyer.” 

“Shout if you need someone, Loomi,” she said, closing the door behind her with a click. 

_ Loomi?  _

“Listen to me,” Hisoka said, pulling up a chair and settling down with a sigh. Illumi was looking anywhere but at him. 

There was a bandaid on his knuckle, the knuckle he had scratched the skin off of in the interrogation room. 

“This is unprecedented, Illumi. You committed a double-homicide. The fact that I got you out on bail is--well, I don’t want to sound arrogant, but--” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“You can afford to lose $10 million dollars, Zoldyck.” Illumi sent him a scowl. “And I’ll set you up with a really good lawyer to deal with the matters of your inheritance.”

“I don’t care about the money.” 

“Brat.” 

“I want to stay with my siblings.” 

“Illumi, if you get within five-hundred feet of your siblings, you’ll get carted off to jail,  _ adult  _ jail. Not to get graphic or anything, but--” Hisoka paused and thought better of it. “Anyway, just trust me. This is a good thing.” There was a long bout of silence, but it wasn’t hostile, as Hisoka had initially thought. Illumi sank into the bed like a melted popsicle. 

“I’m tired.” Ah. Illumi really did look tired, eyes barely open, nose red with the promise of illness. His hair was more mussed today than it looked yesterday, and the pale blue hospital blankets didn’t do much for his already sallow complexion. 

“I know.” 

“You’re enjoying this,” Illumi added sourly, eyeing Hisoka. 

“I’m not allowed to?” Hisoka asked, lips curving. He met Illumi’s eyes, saw something glimmering there, and then Illumi started to cry. 

It was not the kind of crying Hisoka was used to seeing. These weren’t crocodile tears. 

He was crying like a kid, shoulders shaking, cheeks blooming red, eyes screwed shut like an infant making its first wail. Hisoka looked down at his briefcase, as if it would be any help to him, and then glanced at the door. 

“Uhm,” he began, half-reaching out for Illumi’s balled-up fist, before deciding against it. 

“Illumi,” he tried quietly. Illumi let out a choked up sob and his head lolled to the side, turning away from Hisoka. 

“I’m not--I’m just a lawyer. I’m going to get a nurse, okay?” Illumi didn’t respond. Hisoka poked his head out of the hospital room and waved a nurse over. 

“He’s crying.” 

‘What did you do?” The nurse demanded. 

“Nothing,” Hisoka snapped back, indignant. 

“Leave, then,” she said. “I’m serious, go.” Hisoka glanced back at Illumi. Already, another nurse was seeing to him, shushing him as he jerked pathetically at the handcuffs. 

“Okay,” Hisoka said, an odd feeling in his gut. 

“Poor child,” the nurse clucked, brushing by Hisoka to help her colleague. 

Hisoka watched through the glass as she stroked through Illumi’s hair, brushing his tears away with her thumbs. 

It was refreshing to see him cry, to do something a normal child would do, even if the being in the same room with it going on had been strangely uncomfortable for Hisoka. At least he knew, for his own edification, that Illumi knew  _ how  _ to cry. Hopefully, he did it during the trial. 

Copiously, if he knew what was good for him. 

**Two Months Later**

Illumi was wilting. His foster mother was a very stern woman who, understandably, did not let Illumi out of the house without her presence. When Hisoka met with him to prepare him for the trial, they did it at Hisoka’s office, with the woman waiting just outside. 

“Want some coffee?” 

“No.” 

“Hot chocolate?” 

“No.” There was a pause. “Yes, actually.” 

“Watch this,” Hisoka said, holding up a finger. He pressed a button on his phone and said very loudly into the receiver, “Mark, two hot chocolates, now!” 

Only two minutes later, a frazzled-looking intern stumbled into Hisoka’s office and set down two cups of hot chocolate. 

“Bye, Mark.” 

“Of course, Mr. Morrow!” And then he was gone. Hisoka waited for a reaction from Illumi, but he just sipped his cup gingerly. 

“I always felt bad bossing around my secretary, ‘cause she’s--you know--a woman. But, being an elite criminal defense attorney means I have an inexhaustible supply of Ivy-League interns who would literally do anything I tell them.” Illumi stared at him blankly. 

“How’s your place?” 

“I don’t like it,” Illumi said. 

“Not up to your Zoldyck standards?” Hisoka teased. 

“There are a lot of rules, and I have to go to therapy.” Hisoka didn’t really see a problem with that. Illumi seemed to need both of those. But, Illumi did look worse-for-wear. Not physically. 

His hair was very shiny and his face was the same--a goldfish staring at you from its bowl. 

His eyes, however, were bloodshot and wet. He had bitten his nails down to the nubs, picked at his cuticles until they were swollen and red. 

“What kind of rules?” 

“No tv, no phone use. She lets me watch DVDs on the weekends. She homeschools me.” 

“Miss your family?” Hisoka asked, tapping his pen against his desk. 

“Can we just start?” Illumi asked tiredly. Hisoka took a sip of his hot chocolate and studied Illumi for a second longer: the unnatural pale of his skin, the bandaids around his fingers. 

“Sure, let’s start,” Hisoka said with a clap of his hands. 

They breezed through trial prep. Still, when they were done, half an hour left in their meeting, Hisoka poked his head out of his office and put on his fakest apologetic smile. 

“Hi there, so sorry, but we’re going to need another half an hour. Does that work?” 

“That’s fine,” the woman said. She didn’t look evil or anything, which was a relief. She had nice fingernails, manicured, but not extravagantly so, like she took care of herself regularly. The bag she was carrying was a tote from a boutique grocery store that Hisoka knew. 

At least Illumi was presumably eating well. 

“Why’d you ask that?” Illumi asked suspiciously. 

“You seem super depressed,” Hisoka said. “Wanna fuck around on my laptop while I work?” 

“What?” Illumi asked blankly. Hisoka raised an eyebrow. 

“I have a couch. I don’t need my laptop when I’m in my office since I have a desktop computer. Just hang out on my couch for an hour and watch porn, or whatever teenagers do these days.” 

“I’m not going to watch--” 

“You have an hour,” Hisoka said, shooing him towards his couch. 

It was probably unethical, letting Illumi sit on that couch, what with all the activity done on it. But, he wouldn’t notice, Hisoka hoped. 

Illumi curled up on the couch like a cat, glancing suspiciously at Hisoka ever so often, like this was going to turn out to be some kind of practical joke. Hisoka just went through his emails, keeping a lazy eye on Illumi. 

It was satisfying seeing him start to relax, head dropping back onto one of the throw pillows, kicking off his shoes, letting the dull narration from the laptop soothe him into a kind of peace. 

He was watching a nature documentary, which Hisoka thought was stupid, but he wasn’t about to dictate Illumi’s freedom. 

Mark brought three more cups of hot chocolate to the office, all of which Illumi drained.

“Mr. Morrow,” Illumi said quietly sometime later. Hisoka jolted from his chair. He had forgotten Illumi was there. 

“I think it’s been an hour.” 

“Oops. Let’s go.” Illumi stretched both arms overhead and set the laptop down on Hisoka’s desk, eyes lingering on it even as he made his way for the door. 

His foster mother had been watching a rom-com movie on her phone. She blinked up in surprise when she saw Illumi. 

“Hello, dear, how’d it go?” 

“Fine.” 

She looked him over, eyes traveling shrewdly up his body. 

“You look to be in good spirits. Thank you, Mr. Morrow, though do let me know next time if you plan on running over. I needed to have started dinner ten minutes ago.” 

“My bad,” Hisoka said with an amicable smile. She shook his head, a strong grip, and then guided Illumi to the elevator with a hand resting affectionately on his head. 

Hisoka returned to his office and then looked at an email left up on his computer. A potential client. It was a CFO, accused of rape. It wouldn’t be difficult, a tidy settlement for the woman if her lawyers wanted what was best for her, but the thought of going through with any of it suddenly seemed exhausting. 

And for no real reason. He had done it many times before. 

Instead of responding, he opened up a new email, to Illumi’s foster mother, requesting that she bring Illumi in for an extra session next week, just for an hour. 

He hit send. 

For a moment, there was a lightness in his chest, like he had just been given very good news. And then another thought struck him. 

Hisoka picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts to find his usual cleaning company. They had rescued a persian rug he had ruined with wine on New Year’s Eve last year. 

“Hello? Hi, it’s Hisoka Morrow. Yeah, yup, I’m lovely. I was wondering if you could send someone to my office tomorrow? Yeah, I need you to deep clean a couch.” 

**Another Two Months Later**

Illumi had four siblings. The youngest was his spitting image: a polite little face with straight black hair and androgynous features. The second and third youngest were both blue-eyed, but the older of the two had white fluffy hair: Killua. 

Killua hadn’t let go of Illumi’s hand, not once. He bounced around with fittingly child-like delight, tugging at Illumi’s slacks for attention. 

The suit Illumi had worn for the trial was partly off. His grandfather, Zeno, had the jacket folded over his arm, walking peacefully a few feet behind his grandchildren. They had brought him a sweatshirt to throw over the pants and the button-down: a big green college sweatshirt and Tom Ford slacks, oddly fitting. His black wingtips had been replaced with a pair of Birkenstocks.

Milluki, the second oldest, was waging a war between paying attention to his recently no-longer-incarcerated brother and a game on his phone. 

Illumi seemed to be winning by a hair. 

Five years of parole and mandatory bi-weekly counseling sessions. Hisoka honestly surprised himself sometimes. 

“Ouch,” Illumi said mildly. Killua had ripped out a few strands of his hair by accident. 

The grandfather, hunched over with age, sidled up to Hisoka watched his grandchildren tumble over each other like puppies. 

Alluka and Killua were clearly the most rambunctious, followed by Milluki. Illumi and Kalluto sat like statues on the far side of the bench. Kalluto was playing with the ends of Illumi’s hair while Illumi tried to rewrap a bandaid around his finger. 

“You’re a good lawyer.” 

“I certainly try,” Hisoka said. Zeno made a puffing sound--an old man’s laugh. 

“And we got lucky with the jury,” Hisoka added. 

“Oh, really?” 

“A grandfather and two mothers,” Hisoka said, nodding. 

“Are you supposed to know that?” Zeno glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, only to find Hisoka beaming at him, like a mischievous child. 

“I think you’ll find with this case, I did a lot of things I wasn’t supposed to.” 

“Was Illumi that charming?” Zeno asked. Hisoka watched as Illumi snatched Milluki’s phone away and pocketed, scolding him with a wagging finger. Alluka snatched it while his attention was elsewhere, tossing the device to Killua, who streaked away with it in a white blur.

Kalluto watched a sparrow flutter along the ground. 

The first time Hisoka had met Illumi, he had been sitting, handcuffed, in a room, with three broken toes and his father’s blood all over his face. There hadn’t been a single thing about him that was charming, not his dull, black eyes or his strange, epicene face, or the way that he spoke. He didn’t cry, didn’t laugh, didn’t seem satisfied or smug or horrified, nothing that could indicate what he had just done. 

“No,” Hisoka said, shaking his head with a laugh. He thought of Illumi crying in a hospital room, complaining about his foster mother while cupping hot chocolate in his hands. A weird, weird kid. 

“He wasn’t charming at all. But, he’s a very good big brother.” 

“A better brother than I’ve been a grandfather,” Zeno agreed. 

Milluki had managed to catch Killua, taking the phone back and admonishing him with furiously red cheeks. 

“Don’t take my shit!” 

“It was a joke!” 

“Guys,” Illumi tried faintly, but to no avail. It was sort of funny to see that even with his much-beloved family, Illumi was still incredibly awkward.

“They seem very happy,” Hisoka said to Zeno. 

“Oh, they are.” 

“Their parents are dead,” Hisoka pointed out. Zeno clasped his hands behind his back and hummed, chin tilting to the fading sunlight coming from a dark orange corner of the sky. 

“Very happy children, I would say.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> peace!


End file.
